there is a beauty in depression. if there wasnt, many of us wouldn’t be so keen on continuing to marinate in it all. something aboout your hipbones clashing with the hardness of your mattress makes you feel, dare i say, superior. secretly, you loveeeee it don’t you.
eating 8 m&ms and a swig of deit coke, standing up to see colors of red, blue and green. hitting you so hard you sit back down again, dragging your hands through your greasy, thin and falling out hair. but you love it, don’t you.
you love when people are concerned, and notice your sudden weight changes, glossy eyes, slow voice and mummy movements. you get high off it, off the praise for being so unwell, it comforts you. it soothes the part in you that was never soothed y your mother, father or boyfriend.
you pretend it’s fine, and you’re fine. you play it off. but deep dpwn you know you’re feeding into the world that others see you in